Summer Beach Reads 5-Book Bundle: Beachcombers, Heat Wave, Moon Shell Beach, Summer House, Summer Breeze (69 page)

“We fantasized about movie stars. That’s different from ‘thinking about men.’ ” Carley lifted her glass to her lips, hoping to hide the flush she felt stain her cheeks. “I don’t have time to think about men or sex or dating or anything like that.”

“You’re going to have an empty house for a week.”

“Hardly. I have all three rooms solidly booked.”

“I mean your girls will be gone. You’ll have privacy.”

“You think I should wander down to a bar and pick up a stranger and bring him home?”

“Might not be the worst thing you could do for yourself.” Maud leaned forward. “Carley, you used to be
different.
”

“Of course I was!” Carley shot back. “I wasn’t a widow!”

“No, even before Gus died, you had kind of
lost
something. A sparkle. An exuberance.”

Defensively, Carley snapped, “Not everyone can vamp around like Angelina Jolie, stealing another woman’s man!”

Maud recoiled. “Vanessa’s the one who looks like Angelina Jolie.”

For a while they sat in silence.

Carley gave in first. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Maud told her. “You were only reacting. Still, I think I hit a nerve.”

Carley squirmed. “Maud, of course I ‘lost my sparkle.’ Gus was depressed. He was totally fixated on money. He’d made bad investments, and then he made
more
bad investments. He gambled and lost the girls’ college funds. Our savings are gone. He even borrowed money from Wyatt.”

“Oh, honey, what a mess. Listen, I didn’t mean to be criticizing you.” Maud leaned forward and took Carley’s hand. “Carley, listen. Gus is dead. You are not. You are still young. You are a
babe
. You’ve been working like a trouper for months, getting the B&B ready and running it. That’s all good. But you need to think about yourself. You’re developing these
lines
around your mouth—”

“Oh, thank you very much!” Carley pulled her hand away.

“
Someone
should tell you,” Maud insisted. “This is how you look these days.” She pressed her lips together tightly. “Like an old farm woman who has to plow with a mule.”

Carley didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the image. “Well, that’s just awful!”

“I’m telling you because it’s totally
not
the Carley we know and love!” Maud’s blue eyes were earnest. “You can change! Sweetie, you deserve to be
happy
. You deserve all the good things in life. Lots and lots of delicious sex, too. You don’t have to be a saint.”

“Maud, I’m glad you’re concerned. I hear what you’re saying. I
don’t want to look like an old farm woman, but at this point in my life I don’t feel—emotionally open. I think I’m actually doing fairly well, all things considered.”

“You are, you really are. I’m proud of you. It’s just time you got on with your life.”

Carley bowed her head. “I don’t want to do anything wrong.”

Maud squinted at Carley. “Are you worried about the girls? They might freak if you dated some man?”

Carley squirmed. “I think Cisco might. We’re going through a tough phase these days.”

“Cisco is a teenager. She blamed you because she couldn’t be a ballerina. She’s going to spend the next five years blaming you for everything that goes wrong with her. That’s what kids do. But think about this, Carley, you need to be a role model to your girls.”

“I know that! I’m certainly trying my best!”

“No one could be better. But a role model successfully takes care of her own needs, too. You get to have a life of your own.”

“I have a life of my own,” Carley argued.

“Listen, Carley, one of the seven deadly sins is called sloth, but it’s really acedia. It’s a failure to love God and his works. It’s a failure to love
life
. And you still have life, Carley. And part of life, especially while you’re young, is sex, sensuality.”

Carley started to disagree, then subsided. After all, Maud was right. “I see what you’re saying, Maud. I do. But you’ve got to remember, it’s not just the girls I have to think about. Annabel and Russell will be terribly hurt if I ever do start dating again.”

“Why do they get to have a vote? I’m not saying it’s time to get
married
again. It’s too soon for that. But it’s not too soon to have a little sugar on the side.”

Carley laughed helplessly. “Since when have you started writing the rules of life?”

Maud aimed the full Bunsen burner force of her big blue eyes at Carley. “Since I started living with a man who makes my pulse race and my heart sing. I used to feel that life was
boring
, Carley. Now that I’ve had what I’ve had with Toby, I could die tomorrow knowing
I haven’t missed anything. You can’t go back in time, Carley. You can only go forward.” In a milder voice, she said, “I know I say the hard things. But I’m right.”

“Maybe you are,” Carley agreed thoughtfully. Looking up at her friend, she said, “I do love running the Seashell Inn.”

“Yes, of course you would.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means the B&B is work. Making other people happy. When are you going to take care of yourself? Do Annabel and Russell intimidate you?”

Carley took a moment to think about the question, but it bothered her, it made her uncomfortable. Finally, she answered, “I don’t think so, Maud. Annabel and Russell didn’t want me to run a guest house. They wanted me and the girls to move in with them. I went against their wishes. We stayed here, and I’m running the B&B. So I don’t think I’m afraid of them. I love them. I respect them. But I can’t help but think how absolutely crushed they would be if I brought another man into Annabel’s house.”

“What about your girls? Do you think it would be better for your girls to
not
have a man in their lives?”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way, Maud. I can’t really think about it now. Not in the summer, when everything’s so busy. Not in this terrible heat.” Carley wiped her forehead. “The heat just
drains
me.”

“Me, too. I take about ten showers a day. Look, Carley, I’m not trying to pressure you. It’s just that I love you, and I want you to be happy.”

“Thanks, Maud.” Carley knocked back the last of her iced coffee, her movements obscuring the tears that sprang to her eyes. It had been a while since anyone had said they loved her. “Gosh,” she admitted in a sudden rush of emotion, “I’ve really missed spending time with you, Maud.”

“We’ll get together more when the summer’s over. Until then, will you think about what I’ve said?”

Carley nodded. “I will.”

• • • • •

“Good-bye, good-bye!” Carley reached out, trying to corral both daughters before they boarded the plane to their grandparents. Margaret was wiggly and giggly with excitement, while Cisco had gone stiff in her attempt to appear sophisticated.

“Cisco,” Carley put her hand on her daughter’s chin, forcing her to meet her eyes. “If Margaret needs you to hold her hand, you will, right?”

“Gosh, Mom, I’m not a
sadist
,” Cisco retorted, rolling her eyes. At thirteen, Cisco had a whole new vocabulary. “And you have tissues in your purse for both of you.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“And you’ll call me when you land.”

“Yes, Mom.”

She turned to her younger daughter, who looked peppermint candy sweet in pink. “Margaret, you hold Cisco’s hand when she tells you to, right?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“And you don’t talk to strangers.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Can she talk to the flight attendant?” Cisco asked archly.
“Cisco.”
Carley used her “don’t push your luck” voice. “They’re
boarding
,” Cisco reported, and excitement made her
voice quaver. The girls had never gone off anywhere alone together for an entire week.

“One more hug.” Carley clutched her daughters hard against her. She smacked kisses on top of their heads, then let them go. What had she forgotten? She had checked and double-checked that they had enough money and enough change in case of emergency. She’d written her phone number and her parents’ and Sarah’s on paper and made each girl carry one. Cisco had her cell phone, freshly charged. “Do you have your boarding passes?”

Both girls held up the rectangle of red plastic. They waved them at Carley, then hurried to get into the line of people walking through the gate behind the flight attendant to the plane. They were the only children on board. Immediately their shorter heads were hidden by those of adults. She glimpsed their shining black hair as they climbed up the stairs and ducked into the plane. The stairs, which were attached to the door, rose. The door was latched into place. The engines started. The plane taxied away from the terminal.

Carley bit her lip to keep from crying. She kept her sunglasses on as she fled the building. All around her, people were rushing up to greet family and friends, shrieking with joy, hugging so hard they almost fell over. Reaching her SUV, she crawled into it, slamming the door tight, locking it, putting on her seat belt, pretending it was an ordinary day. But her hands were shaking so hard she couldn’t get the key into the ignition. She was absolutely
slammed
with loneliness. This hadn’t hit her before, not when the girls spent the night at Annabel and Russell’s or at their friends’. Why should it hit her here? She could only surrender.

She sat in her car and let it come, here where no one could see her. She bawled like a calf until her throat ached and her eyes were sore.

Finally she pulled herself together. She dug tissues out of her purse—she always had tissues at hand these days—and blew her nose and dried her eyes. She flipped down the visor and studied herself in the mirror. Ugh. Swollen nose, pouchy eyes, no lipstick. She dug out her eyeliner and lipstick and tried to create a semblance of
normality on her face. Did she
really
have lines on either side of her mouth? She was only thirty-two!

Next to her four college-age women were tossing luggage into a convertible, shouting out all the fabulous things they were going to do this week: the beach, the parties, the mojitos, the shopping …

The
shopping
. When had she last bought a new dress? Or even a new shirt? It had to be almost a year. When Gus died, she immediately went into what she called her austerity mode, and the first thing she’d cut out was clothes for herself. The girls had to have new clothes all the time, they were growing, they had school and parties and events. It didn’t really matter what Carley wore as an innkeeper.

When had she last worn a red dress?

When had she last worn a black dress?

She’d last worn a black dress at Gus’s funeral.

Right.

Well, still, she hadn’t been thinking of
that
kind of black dress.

She put the key into the ignition and drove to Lexi’s shop, Moon Shell Beach.

It was early in the day. While lots of cars were parked on Main Street, most shoppers were out to buy the morning newspapers and fresh produce from the farm trucks.

Carley walked down the cobblestoned wharf to the small shingled shop and stood for a moment gazing in the window at the clothing displayed there. The garments were silky, fluid, drapey. She hadn’t bought anything like that for months. Possibly, for years. She and Gus had been hardworking and deliberate, renovating their home, raising the girls, taking part in the town activities, spending plenty of time with his parents. Not every woman at thirty-two was as conscientious as Carley had been. As Carley still was. Some women weren’t even married. Some women of thirty-two were sauntering along the beach in clingy pareos, slanting sexy eyes toward any man who caught their fancy. Some women wore necklaces like that shimmer of silver that spilled over the mannequin’s breasts …

Lexi appeared in the doorway, smirking at Carley. “You’re drooling. Most becoming.”

“Oh, Lexi, everything is so—not just gorgeous.
Sensual.
”

“Come in.” Lexi stepped out, wrapped her arm around Carley’s shoulders, and ushered her into the shop. No one else was there. “It’s always quiet in the mornings,” she explained.

Carley pouted. “Maud told me I look like an old farm woman who has to plow with a mule.”

Lexi laughed a come-hither laugh. “Then let’s transform you.”

“I don’t have much money,” Carley confessed.

“That’s okay. I happen to have an in with the owner.”

She pulled Carley into a little paradise. Summer colors—azure, lime, coral, crimson—undulated in satin waterfalls from hangers and hooks. Pashminas and shirts as light as flower petals layered the shelves. A pirate’s trove of jewelry glittered from the display case. A spicy fragrance drifted through the air along with dreamy, creamy music, like waves lolling up to the shore.

“Try these.” While Carley had been gaping, Lexi had gathered up several garments. She hung them on hooks in the dressing room at the back of the shop and ushered Carley in. “I’ll bring you other things.”

Carley tugged off her Capris and tee shirt. She slipped on a chiffon sarong in muted blues, shivering as the material slid over her skin. She stood gawking at her reflection in the mirror.

Lexi pulled open the curtain. “Better, right? We’ve got you away from the farm.”

A kind of greed rushed through Carley’s blood, a kind of lust. Whatever Lexi brought her, she tried on, shimmery skirts, loose tops with heavily beaded plunging necklines, exotic tunics richly embroidered, tops accentuated with cutwork and lace. Everything had tassels or beads or crocheted openwork.

“Put these on.” Lexi handed Carley a pair of gold filigree earrings. They had a vaguely Egyptian look about them, they were large and ornate, and they were as light as air.

“Oh, I can’t wear these!” Carley almost ripped them out of her earlobes. “I look too—too exotic.”

“Sexy is the word you want,” Lexi told her. “All right, then, they’re too sexy. I can’t go around looking sexy. I’m a widow.”

Lexi didn’t argue. Carley pulled back on her favorite, a halter-top dress, the bodice accentuated with coins and needlework and beads. “You have marvelous shoulders,” Lexi told her. “Cisco thinks they’re too wide. We can’t be ballerinas.”